


On Sunday

by MorningRainandCoffeeStains



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, I love them so much, I'm back with puppy dog girlfriends, Love, These delicate souls, Wayhaught - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 01:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13066581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorningRainandCoffeeStains/pseuds/MorningRainandCoffeeStains
Summary: Waverly has never really had a favorite day of the week.At least, not untilNicole.(One-shot. Canon. Just fluff and love.)





	On Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, it's 5:58 AM, and I've written a little something.
> 
> *folds it up and slides it across the table for you to read*
> 
> Please enjoy.

> "this morning i woke  
>  with my ear pressed  
>  between shoulder blades  
>  every inhale  
>  every drum  
>  every pump  
>  thump  
>  of your heartbeat  
>  said one thing - 
> 
> home  
>  home  
>  home."
> 
> \- Tyler Kent White

 

* * *

 

It begins the same as nearly every morning: Waverly wakes to a dull ‘ _thump. thump. thump._ ’ against her ear. The sound is so familiar and comforting it makes the urge to fall right back asleep strong, almost too momentous to fight against, but her eyes flutter slowly open anyway. Still bleary-eyed, nothing in the room has come into focus yet, but all she cares to focus on anyway is that steady sound, knocking consistently against her eardrum: Nicole’s heartbeat.

_thump_.

_thump_.

_thump_.

More than the sound of Nicole’s blood meandering through her veins in a steady rhythm, it’s comfort and reassurance. It’s the instant knowledge that the love of her life is alive and so wonderfully _here_ , and it’s the kind of noise that always wraps itself around Waverly’s entire being and brings with it a warmth so profound she’s convinced it pulses in the ground beneath her every time she feels it. 

Too often, on many other days, Nicole is up far too early. So early sometimes that the sun itself has yet to rise from its own slumber. Waverly bemoans mornings like that, when she wakes to emptiness on the other side of their bed, the impression of Nicole’s features still evident in the rumpled sheets, a sight that also serves as a reminder that she is _gone_ —at least for some hours. When she’s awake that early, Nicole slides out of bed and shuffles out the bedroom door so quietly that Waverly is rarely able to slip from the grip of unconsciousness for the opportunity to say bye. 

“I don’t want to wake you when I’m up that early, Waves. Besides, I like it when you sleep, you know,” Nicole had said one day, carrying a signature smile that always sits beside Waverly’s heart and talks to it. “Because you’re so beautiful, yet _so_ unaware of it.”

Waverly smiles significantly at the memory. Though exhaustion is still married to her body, heavy-limbed and quiet, leaving her with absolutely no temptation to get up and out of bed, she finds enough strength to tilt her head upwards to peek at her girlfriend’s sleeping frame. The smile on her face only grows even further at the sight: Nicole’s firey red hair, usually neatly arranged for work, is less put-together and instead a messy inferno, the muscles in her face are slack, and the resulting expression is peaceful—the perfect image of slumber. This, along with Nicole’s heart still singing its sweet song in her ear, has her own heart throbbing just a bit harder with adoration, and Waverly can suddenly feel the pulse in her neck. People always say they love the weekend because it’s a much-needed break from things like work, but for Waverly, _this_ is what makes it so delightful.

Wynonna had once asked her what her favorite day of the week was; the memory has faded some, but it flashes briefly in Waverly’s mind now. The question was purely out of curiosity, and the two of them had maybe, possibly had some alcohol running through their veins, exchanging silly questions in between swigs from a whiskey bottle and giggling through their drunken answers, but to that question in particular, Waverly remembers her answer being somewhere along the lines of ‘the weekend,’ but not being able to decide between the two possibilities.

Thinking back now, though, Waverly knows the answer. She knows it in her mind and even more so in her heart, because every time this particular day has come around since the day she met Nicole, she finds that the hours in it are long yet short, the morning stretches and yawns and has come to her with more gentleness than she ever imagined possible, the afternoon ripples in like a pebble thrown into dormant water, and even when the evening comes to steal the daylight and carry it away, every waking minute is perfection, and all of that—all of this happiness and joy and soul-turning warmth—it makes Waverly’s answer clear: it’s Sunday. It’s Sunday morning and a bed with two sleep-ridden bodies; it’s wrinkled sheets and steady breaths from lungs belonging to two human beings meant-to-be; it’s warmth that the sun could never understand, because even on days when raindrops tumble down from the sky and onto the bedroom windows, it appears inevitably; and most of all, _God_ , it’s love, and love, and love. In its simplest, purest form, it is love. Waverly is so intensely, hopelessly, madly, permanently in _love_ , and she knows this—has known it for quite some time now—but she thinks she might also be in love with this day of the week, as ridiculous as that sounds.  

Head still laid upon a rising and falling chest, Waverly can feel the insistent press of tears against her eyes suddenly with the thought of how lucky she has been to have found this much heaven in this hometown of hell (and the irony of it simultaneously makes her want to laugh because how fitting is the name _Purgatory_ in that case), and she internally berates herself for being so ridiculous and emotional, but she finds herself agreeing immensely with the tired thoughts shuffling lazily through her mind.

Once more, the temptation of sleep tugs on her shirt sleeve like a small child, and right now, Waverly turns and follows, and gives herself over to that quiet oblivion her bones cannot stop craving. Right now, there are no demons to fight, and so, Waverly refuses to choose this particular battle because… well, she knows it would be useless anyway.

Right now, it’s morning on Waverly’s favorite day of the week, and in her ear, perfection somehow echoes against the delicately soft walls of _Nicole_ , _Nicole_ , _Nicole_.

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I think I’m done being in love with these characters, something sparks and gives way to fire. These two are just… everything. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave me your thoughts, comments, compliments, criticisms, words, and anything else in between in the comments below. (And if you’re already ready for season 3 like I am, let me know because TBH, I’m dying here now that I’ve written this.)
> 
> P.S. If you were wondering, the quote by Nicole is indeed based off of the song, “I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it” by The 1975. Strangely long title, I know, but I do recommend giving it a listen if you fancy.


End file.
